Lewis Wingfield - My Lords of Strogue. Volume 1 of 3

My lord drummed his white fingers impatiently-the dry-skinned fingers that mark the libertine-because of all things he hated being bored, and knew that religious discussions would bring reproaches anent Gillin. It was with relief that he beheld a gay coach half-filled with flowers, swaying in the crowd below, which contained the graces en titre of Dublin, Darkey Kelly, Peg Plunkett, and Maria Llewellyn-over-painted, over-feathered, over-dressed, like a parterre of full-blown peonies. Their apparition caused a diversion at the windows. All the peeresses stared stonily through gold-rimmed glasses as the trio passed with the calm impertinence of high-born fine ladies, for it stirreth the curiosity of the most blasée Ariadne to mark what manner of female it is who hath robbed her of her Theseus. My lord roared with laughter to see the sorry fashion in which the houris bore the ordeal, vowing 'fore Gad that he must go help them with his countenance; for there is naught so discomfiting to a fair one who is frail as a public display of contempt from one who is not. Out he sallied, therefore, drawing his sword as a hint for the scum to clear a passage; but, ere he could reach the Graces, they were borne away by the stream, and their coach had made way for a noddy, in which sat a comely woman, with bright mouse-like eyes, and a complexion of milk and roses. When the newcomer observed my lord buffeting in her direction, her lips parted in a gratified smile, and she cast a glance of triumph at the club-house; for she knew that at a window there a certain high nose might be discerned, which set her teeth on edge-set in a white scornful face, whose aspect made her blood to boil.

'That woman again!' my lady was heard to murmur, as she abruptly quitted her place. 'The globe's not large enough for her and me. I hate the baggage!'

Mr. Curran, who, if untidy and unkempt, was a man of the world and shrewd withal, tried a little joke by way of clearing the sulphur from the atmosphere; but it fell quite flat, and he looked round with a wistful air of apology as a dog does that has wagged his tail inopportunely.

'Let's be off, Theobald, 'he suggested. 'Whatever can the Volunteers be doing? Why does their return procession tarry? They should be here by this, for 'tis past three. Ah, here's Fitzgibbon, the high and mighty Lucifer, who'd wipe his shoes upon us if he dared. Maybe he brings us news.'

Instinctively everybody made way for Fitzgibbon, the brilliant statesman who already swept all before him. Even his enemies admitted his ability, whilst deploring his flagrant errors. In his fitful nature good and evil were ever struggling for the mastery. Was he destined to achieve perennial fame, or doomed to eternal obloquy? Liberal, hospitable, munificent, he was; but unscrupulous to boot, and arrogant and domineering. A man who must become a prodigious success, or an awful ruin. For him was no middle path. Which was it to be? Opinion was divided; but as at present his star was in the ascendant, his foes were outnumbered by his friends.

This man who aspired to be chancellor, and as such to direct the Privy Council, was dark, of middle height, with a sharp hatchet face and oblique cast of eye. No one could be pleasanter or more flashy than Fitzgibbon if he chose, for he united the manners of a grand seigneur with some culture, and could keep his temper under admirable control. But he preferred always to browbeat rather than conciliate, though he was a master of diplomacy, if such became worth his while. On the present occasion he strode hastily into the room as though Daly's was his private property, and, with a polished obeisance to the peeresses, flourished a perfumed kerchief.

'It's all over for the present,' he cried, with a harsh chuckle. 'The fatuous fools have postponed their grand coup till to-morrow, not perceiving that dissension is already at work among them. Oh, these Irish! They are only fit to burrow in holes and dig roots out of the earth. There is no keeping them in unison for two consecutive minutes. The sooner England swallows them the better, the silly donkeys!'

'I believe your honour is an Irishman?' asked Curran, dryly.

'Bedlamites, one and all, who crave for the impossible. I've no patience with them.' Here Mr. Fitzgibbon helped himself to a pinch from my lady's snuffbox.

'Bedad, ye're right,' sneered Curran. 'We're absurd to pretend to a heart and ventricles all to ourselves. We should be grateful-mere Irish-to be by favour the Great Toe of an empire!'

'England has always betrayed us!' cried out young Tone, the neophyte. 'Knowing we're hungry, she throws poisoned bones to us. The only way to set right our parliament will be to break with England altogether!'

The bold sentiment set all the peeresses tittering. They cackled of freedom, and were bedizened in smart uniforms; yet were there few of these noble ladies whose hearts were really with the new crusade. It was vastly diverting to hear this David attacking the great Goliath. They settled their skirts to see fair play; but Fitzgibbon for once was ungallant.

'Your godson, isn't it, Wolfe?' he remarked carelessly. 'Send for the child's nurse that he may be put to bed.'

He could not sweep Curran aside in this magnificent fashion, so he elected to be unaware of his presence. He disliked the little advocate because he feared him. Yes, the would-be aristocrat was mortally afraid of the plebeian-a privilege which he accorded to few men on earth. The two had risen at the Bar side by side, till the influence which Fitzgibbon could command gave him an advantage which his undoubted talent enabled him to keep. With sure and steady progress he forced himself above his fellows, and won the adulation which accompanies success. It was his crumpled roseleaf that Curran should be keen enough to gauge his real value; that he should despise him as a mountebank, that he should read within his heart that personal ambition was his motive-spring, not love of country. As it happened, Curran was a master of invective, and no niggard of his shafts; so Fitzgibbon tried flattery, and got jeered at for his pains, which produced a hurricane of sarcasm. It was with rage that he accepted at last a fact. If there was one person who could stop his soaring Pegasus in full career, that man was common-looking Curran. So the arrogant candidate for honours marked out his enemy as one who must be watched, and if possible circumvented; and the more he watched the more he detested that odious little creature.

He did not choose therefore to take umbrage at his taunts; but, mindful of the adage that to be anhungered is to be cross, announced that a collation awaited the pleasure of their ladyships. Now patriotism is one thing, and fine clothes another; but there are times when cold beef will bear the palm from either. So was it on this occasion. The peeresses rose up with unromantic unanimity at the mere mention of cold beef, seizing each the arm of the nearest gentleman; and so Curran and his young friend, being unable to escape, found themselves standing presently before a well-furnished board, hemmed in on either side by a lady of high rank.

The showy Fitzgibbon was master of the situation, for Curran was not a lady's man, and the neophyte in such noble company was sheepish. His harsh voice rose unchallenged in polished periods as he explained between two mouthfuls the mess the Volunteers were making. Curran smiled at his imprudence; for was he not flinging dirt at the popular idol-that glittering national army which had worked such miracles; whose many-coloured uniforms sparkled in every street, on the very backs of the dainty dames who looked up at him surprised?

'No good will come of it,' cried the contemptuous great man, as he waved a silver tankard. 'They are acting illegally; are pausing before they dare to overthrow constitutional authority, as the regicides did before they chopped off Charles's head. A little ham, my lady? No? Do, to please me. Will you, my dear Curran? Just a little skelp? Pray do, for you look as if you'd eat me raw; and that young man too. I vow he is a cannibal. What was I saying? He who vilifies those who are in power is sure of an audience, you know. Positively, this regeneration scheme is laughable, quite laughable!'